


Hope (That You Listen)

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [17]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/F, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9138130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: No matter what Fareeha says next, the tide will come in, will leave again, will return once more.Or,In the new year, Fareeha wants to move forwards, wants the dance between herself and her mother to end, and wants for the two of them to begin to heal.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cloudlines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudlines/gifts).



> This works is gifted to AO3-user cloudlines/tumblr-user patternedclouds because art for my fics is guaranteed to make me cry. AKA I cried. I'm crying right now. So I felt like I should give something back. Because I cried.
> 
> Additional shout-out to Viceter for helping me pick tags. And a title. And a summary. LMAO.
> 
> Title is from 1D's If I Could Fly.
> 
> Crossposted to [tumblr](http://agenthill.tumblr.com/tagged/plighted%20hands).

Fareeha's new year begins with a kiss. Not from Angela, who celebrates the new year on the 13th of January, rather than the end of December, but from her mother. Neither of them is at the New Year's celebration held with the other members of Overwatch, as neither drinks and, at a certain point (around eleven o'clock, this time), drunken revelers cease to be fun to be around. Instead, they are on one of the many balconies of Watchpoint; Gibraltar, overlooking the waves.

 _How fitting,_ thinks Fareeha, water a sign of rebirth and the tides representing that some things are constant, will always return. Her relationship with her mother is not so different—they wax and they wane, at times so close they cannot imagine whom they would be without one another, at times not speaking for weeks, months at a time, but always tied, always with the knowledge that the other will return, that they will have another chance.

 _How fitting,_ thinks Fareeha, _and how strange._

Neither of them was meant for the sea.

In some other life, they are like the desert, undisturbed by water save for by storm, one, twice, perhaps three times a year. In some other life, there is no Overwatch to pull them apart, to bring them together, and like grains of sand they are always touching but never one, never live lives so tangled up in one another that one could not know where they end and the influence of the other begins.

They were not meant for this, but here they are.

Neither of them would ever, _could_ ever abandon this life—not truly, not now that they have drank of it, have tasted what it is to be a hero, to be able to change lives and to truly make an impact. Neither of them could ever, even if they tried (and Ana has tried, tried for years, and all she accomplished was delaying the inevitable, separating them for longer than they might have been otherwise; she could try and stem the tide but she could never, ever stop it). Neither of them would ever, for what are they without this? Who are they if not Pharah and Lieutenant Commander Amari? Who are they, if not people who must give of themselves so that others might live?

They have drunk from the sea—and there is the catch, it can feel good, quenching one's thirst, but what next, what next? To drink saltwater is still deadly. There is no escape from the call to duty, no freedom from the burden of command, no leave from their feelings of responsibility.

All this, for a moment with purpose? All this, to not feel powerless?

Both of them would give of themselves in order to save another, without question, both of them would give of themselves to uphold what is just, to protect the innocent, but what more can they give? At what point is there nothing left but giving? When did they cease to see themselves as among the innocent?

These are not the things they talk about, out on the balcony, while others ring in the new year. These are not the things they could allow themselves to give voice to—not before one another, not now, not yet. Not when things between them are still so delicate, not when they have only just come back to one another, after so many years apart. What are six months in the face of seven years? (What are seven years in the face of 32?)

Instead, they speak of anything but, words only glancing off of important topics, brushing against questions of morality and duty and why-did-you-leave-me, but never giving them voice.

"Angela works too hard—she ought to be here with you," says her mother, and means _I wish you had found someone who was not like us, someone who would pull you away from this life, who might beg you to stay safe._

"She doesn't celebrate until the 13th, you know that. There's no reason for her to be here," Fareeha replies, and her true chastisement is _She is not you, she is not us. What has happened between us—is happening—is not for her to be involved in._

"Can you blame me for not wanting you to spend the New Year alone?" _You would not have to be alone, would not have to worry about spending half of your time with your lover half a world away if you were not a member of Overwatch. You would not need to be alone ever._

"I'm not alone, I have you." _I have you now, even though for years I did not._ Or, maybe, _I have you again, and that is enough for me._ Or, maybe, _You have always been first in my life, you know this. Before anyone else, I had you, my mother. My having a partner now does not change or threaten that, does not diminish your importance to me._

It is hard to know what she is saying, what the two of them are really talking about, when Fareeha has so many conflicting feelings all at once, has so many things she wishes to say, and she knows her mother must feel much the same. It is hard to know what has become of their relationship, when so much lies beneath the surface, is only hinted at and never said.

Do they love each other? Yes, certainly. Are they very important to one another? Beyond a doubt. Do they _like_ one another? Do they get along? Those questions are more difficult to answer.

Always, Fareeha loves her mother, even on the days she despises her, but it can be hard to reconcile the woman who would tease her for her love of basketball shorts with the woman who told her— _to protect her,_ or so she claims—that she was a fool to pursue her dream of joining Overwatch, that she ought to stop dreaming and live in reality.

Sometimes, her mother jokes, and Fareeha laughs, and it is like the past sixteen years never happened, and she is still a girl, her mother her hero, and nothing can stop her from achieving her dreams. Sometimes, her mother teases, and Fareeha remembers the years she spent achieving in spite of her mother, the rage she felt towards the woman who would deny her what she thought of, even then, as her purpose in life. Sometimes, her mother laughs, and Fareeha does too, but not kindly, laughs because no matter what was done to her—to them—she was right, and she has won, is here, like she always dreamed, both in spite and because of her mother.

Tonight, none of those is happening. Tonight, the past is the past, they are in the present, and looking towards the future.

The reality of the present is this: in some ways, Ana was right. Fareeha might have been happier had she not enlisted, might be a more whole person. She would certainly not have lost her arm as a civilian, would not live with the burden of command, would not have been traumatized by war.

The reality of the present is this: in other ways, Fareeha was right. She might have been happy as a civilian, done civil engineering and improved lives, but she doubts she would feel as fulfilled as she does now. Every day, she would have wondered what her life would been like if she had pursued her dreams, would have wanted to do something _more_ to defend those who need it most. She would not be the woman she is now, confident that what she does is for the greater good, would not know the people whom she does today, would not be able to look herself in the mirror and say with certainty that she has saved lives, that she is changing the world for the better.

The reality of the present is this: both of them were wrong. Fareeha was wrong to think that Ana discouraged her because she did not believe Fareeha capable, was wrong to think that her mother felt for her anything but the deepest love, and the greatest respect. Ana was wrong to try and stop her daughter, wrong to not explain her reasons, wrong to drive a wedge between them that lasted for so many years. Both of them were wrong to not have mended things sooner, wrong to have believed that they were not tied to one another, wrong to have thought that they could exist separately, and still feel fulfilled, and happy. They need one another, have always needed one another.

The reality of the present is this: they are here, now, and nothing can change the past. They cannot take back what they said to one another, cannot change the fact that they meant it, at the time, cannot rescind their decisions. They are here, now, despite everything, alive and well by each other's sides, and only they can decide to move forwards, only they can work to mend the past, to make a better future for themselves—with or without the other in it. The reality is this, they are here, now, alive and well by each other's sides, but next to Fareeha Ana now looks so, so small.

Both of them were diminished by their separation, both of them suffered for it, but Ana more than Fareeha, and it shows, here and now. Fareeha can live without Ana, has learned to do so. Even if she can never separate the person whom she is from the influence of her mother, she is her own woman. Now, Ana needs Fareeha, needs to be a mother, needs to protect _her,_ in order to be happy—she is not like Fareeha, who carries Ana inside of herself wherever she goes, she _relies_ on their connection.

Without her, Ana is diminished, and despite the part of Fareeha who is still bitter, despite the voice of a young Captain Amari telling her that Ana _ought_ to suffer, for hurting her, Fareeha would not see her mother like this. Rather, Fareeha would see her as she once was—or as close to it as she can be—quick to laugh, strong and tall, a figure looming large.

Perhaps, now, Ana is smaller than she, but Fareeha does not _want_ to be the one of them who grabs attention, whose personality fills the room, not if it means seeing her mother like this, not if it forfeits her mother's happiness. What Fareeha wants is for both of them to be happy, for them to reach a point where conversations are no longer full of double meanings and a single misplaced word could break what they have, send them away from one another yet again.

What Fareeha wants, unrealistic as she fears it may be, is for them to be happy, to find a way for them to coexist, as they are now, without diminishing either of them in the process, or alienating them.

What Fareeha wants is peace, for them, for them to be able to leave the battlefield outside, and not bring it with them into the Watchpoint, where a single wrong word from Ana makes Fareeha feel like she is a child again, makes her run like a teenager and avoid her mother for days, weeks on end, where a slight from Fareeha makes Ana recoil, the look in her remaining eye one of hurt, and resignation, her silence in return an acknowledgement that she may deserve it.

(Even if a part of Fareeha still feels, sometimes, that Ana deserves to hurt, that no pain Fareeha could inflict is equal to what was inflicted upon her. That part of her which is so wounded, which is the young Captain Amari, is not worth listening to. She is Pharah now, and Pharah can stand all on her own, need not push others down to raise herself above them. She is not whole, perhaps, but she is more than enough.)

What Fareeha wants is a future where they are happy, both of them, where they can care for each other and be loved in turn _without_ it hurting them, without the underlying pain of their past. She does not believe things will always be good, or even that they could be, but she knows that they can be better. After all, it was Ana who taught her that even as the best sniper in the world, she could always improve, taught her that some things are worth working at, that one can learn from one's pain and push onwards.

It is that which Fareeha wants for herself, and for Ana. A better future, one in which their past is not forgotten—can never be—but where it does not hurt them any longer, where it informs their decisions and helps them to improve, to move forward, to be what the other needs them to be, here and now.

It is not a resolution, not really, for Fareeha has no plans for how to make it so—does not know where to begin, changing things between them, is not sure she ever will know—and she could never give voice to this wish, not in so many words, for fear that she might jinx it, for fear that just by saying that she wants something she risks it being taken away.

(This fear is not unfamiliar to her, is the reason why, having been in a relationship with Angela for two years now, she has yet to say that she is in love. Life has a way of taking from Fareeha the things which she loves, the things she dares to hope for, she would not have her relationship with either Angela or her mother be on that list.)

It is not a resolution, but nevertheless Fareeha is resolved that things must change, is certain that she can and will improve things, if only she tries hard enough. Surely, after all they have given of themselves, she and her mother deserve this one happiness? Surely, a moment of true peace between them is not too much to ask? A moment between high tide and low, with fair winds, when the oceans seem calm. A moment to breathe, to be free of her worries, of the terrible feeling that her mother will only be returned to her for so long before she must leave again, the feeling that nothing she does matters, that she is destined already to lose that which she has only just regained.

If this is what Ana felt when Fareeha enlisted, this dread, this certainty that Fareeha would be taken from her—Fareeha can almost understand her, can almost begin to process why Ana might have said what she did.

(A part of her will never understand, nor forgive, but that part grows smaller, day by die, grows less important to her as her bonds with her mother, with Angela, with her friends strengthen. Perhaps one day that part of her will cease to matter at all, even if it will never cease to be.)

If this is what Ana felt when Fareeha enlisted, then it is one of so many ways in which they are alike, is another part of the Gordian Knot which ties them to one another.

Fareeha is not Alexander, to cut the knot rather than solving it, not any longer. She would not be like the man who would have ruled her people, and all others besides. It is enough for her to have control of simply herself, to be in control of her own future, and able to solve her own relationships.

To have her mother, to have Angela, to have Lùcio, and Aleks, and Reinhardt, her friends, is enough for Fareeha. She need rule nothing, save the skies in battle.

Ana has always preferred to solve things the easiest way, has been more practical and less romantic than her daughter, but she tried cutting the knot, tried leaving, and here she stands, at Fareeha's side, waiting for the new year. It is not a verbal agreement between them, is nothing so solid as an oath or a contract, but it is a tacit acknowledgement that both of them are here, that both of them are going to try, however they can, to unravel the knot, are going to fix things.

Or, so Fareeha would like to think.

Both of them prefer actions to words, neither is blind to symbolism, and Fareeha almost thinks it could be enough but, with the clock counting downwards, less than five minutes remaining in the year, Fareeha thinks of her not-resolution, her desire, previously unspoken, and does something uncharacteristic—speaks first.

(It may be true that Fareeha despises speaking about her problems, despises talking though things, but she is practical, and would see things improve—if speaking is the only way to do so, the only way to break the equilibrium they have fallen into, the lull of the tides—then speak she will. It is better to be uncomfortable, to do something distasteful, than to fail.)

"I've been thinking," says she, and immediately regrets how she began that sentence. Of course she has been thinking; they have been standing in silence for half an hour, ever since their spat about not-Angela.

For now, at least, her mother is kind enough not to point that out. Perhaps she can sense Fareeha's nervousness, can feel the weight beneath the words. Perhaps she has been thinking along the same vein—the two of them connected again—and so she can guess at what it is Fareeha might want to say to her. Perhaps it is a bit of both.

"Yes, habibti?" A question, open ended, not pinning Fareeha down but allowing her room to maneuver, to steer the conversation where and how she wills—a gesture of goodwill.

"This past year," says Fareeha, and it still does not sound quite right, but Fareeha knows well enough that if she waits for the moment when she _knows_ how to fix this then they will never solve anything. Nothing between them will be perfect, any longer, that has not been a possibility for many years, and Fareeha needs to accept that, so that they might move on, as best they can, needs to accept _good enough_ so that things might get better, "Things between us... We have changed. The situation has changed. I don't know if I'm glad for it, or if I miss the past."

(She does not know, even, what she means by the past. She misses her childhood, certainly, but a part of her also misses when they were totally estranged, because then she did not feel so horribly guilty whenever she thought ill of her mother, did not feel as if she was a terrible daughter, a terrible person. The smallest part of her misses when Ana was 'dead,' for then was simplest of all, but that is a selfish desire one she has done her best to stifle.)

Ana opens her mouth to reply, but Fareeha holds up a hand. Not yet, not yet. Not when it has been so hard for her to begin to say this. Stopping and starting will help neither of them, will draw this out between them further, and to do so could only hurt. What they need, to do this right, is to be direct, and thorough. Enough vague conversations held entirely in subtext have been held between them, in recent months, and they have achieved nothing, have left the two of them in limbo.

"I'm not sure if I'm comfortable here—no, I know I'm not—with things as they are and I want..." she breathes, squares her shoulders, relies a bit on her superior height for confidence, "I want things to change further. Because a part of me, a part of me wants to stay in the past, it's true, to pretend we can still be what we once were, but there really isn't any going back for us, is there? Not anymore."

The past has passed, and all they have is here, and now, the two of them on a balcony awaiting midnight, the ocean below them. No matter what Fareeha says next, the tide will come in, will leave again, will return once more. That is enough for Fareeha, it has to be.

Thinking of the certainty of the ocean, she breathes in once more, forges onwards, "We can't go back, and I don't like the way things are and I think—if you're willing—I'd like to try and change. I'd like to... not fix things, because I don't know that we can, but find a way to live with them, find a way to keep moving forwards, and to learn from our pain, to make things better than they are now, if we can."

What she wants from the future is not for their relationship to be restored, because things once lost can never truly be replaced. What she wants is something akin to her prosthetic to cover the wounds of their past—not the same as her flesh and blood arm, not the same as what they once were, unfeeling, but still enough to move forwards, to carry on much as she once did, and more than. Wishing so does not feel unreasonable.

"Oh Fareeha, my daughter," says her mother, moves to embrace her, and for a moment Fareeha almost flinches back, almost recoils because the care in her voice is too much, too gentle, when Fareeha's thoughts have dwelled on a time that voice seemed incapable of kindness. "For you, I would do anything. I only want you to be happy. It is all I have ever wanted for you. If I must change," a pause, a frown, "I cannot promise you that it will be easy for me, that I will be good at it, but I can try, for you. If you want things to be better—well, you deserve better. Better than this, than me. Things will change, if that is what would make you happy."

Then, Fareeha does flinch. "That isn't what I meant at all! I want us _both_ to be happy, No more of this self-sacrificing. I'm not happy seeing you like this, seeing you blame yourself for things you can no longer change. I don't—I don't like what happened, but it _happened._ It happened, and we can't take it back, either of us, and if we are going to be happy—both of us, together—then we can't keep doing this, can't be stuck thinking about our past first and our future second."

If anything, this only seems to make Ana shrink further, pulling back from Fareeha and in on herself. Whatever Fareeha thought might happen, it was not this.

"I love you, Ummi," she says, more gently, reaching out to her mother, "I want to see you happy; I want to see us both happy. That is all. You need not change who you are for me, and I won't change for you. I just want... I want what is _between_ us to change. The distance, the guilt, the blame. I want to leave our past where it is, finally."

Silence. In the distance, the sound of a countdown, shouted in several languages at once, and nearer, the waves.

_10..._

She puts her hand on her mother's shoulder. Firm, but not too much so, a gentle reassurance.

_9..._

Ana glances upwards, moonlight reflecting off of the silver threads in the hijab she has left on following their departure from the party.

_8..._

Fareeha's eyes meet her mother's remaining one.

_7..._

She thinks, in them, she sees understanding, and resolution.

_6..._

Ana takes a step forward, the physical gap between them growing smaller and smaller.

_5..._

She reaches up, places a palm on Fareeha's own shoulder, open and flat.

_4..._

She nudges Fareeha downwards.

_3..._

Fareeha bends her knees, lowers herself so that they are at eye level.

_2..._

Her mother moves onto tiptoes, just barely putting herself above Fareeha in height.

_1..._

Fareeha's new year begins with a kiss, her mother's lips on her forehead, a promise, an understanding, a hope for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
> 
> I'ts been a rough year for me, for many reasons, but all of your lovely comments (& ocassional art) have improved my year immeasurably, and I hope my fics have brought you some happiness too.
> 
> Here's to a better 2017 <3


End file.
